My Indecision is Final
by spyrothebandicoot
Summary: Everyone has a story, all of which are entertaining in some way, most useful in another. This is just one of those, where we struggle on the verge of the answers, dangling on the precipice of knowledge and insight, never quite falling over. Where we run in the direction of love and connection and always lose what we chase, because we chase. Just one of those.
1. Chapter 1

The thing about her was her inaccessibility. She had traveled the entire universe and I don't think there were more than five people still living who could say they had seen her true self. She was many different people, sometimes all at once. It was extremely confusing and being around her was like ingesting ten cups of coffee in less than ten minutes, invigorating, intense, making you hyper-aware and incredibly motivated to do nothing in particular, and then letting you crash. Because there's always a crash, you always come down after a high, and she would never stick around to sustain you as much as you wanted.

The first time I saw her was at a loading station. I wasn't much back then, arguably I'm not much now either, and I was working as a docker. It was my job to park, assess and clean or fix any transports that came in. It wasn't the most entertaining job, way out in deep space nothing too interesting came in. Until she did.

The ship was not entirely unusual, which at the time was not surprising, I wasn't expecting anything unusual. It looked like a standard XF003. Not an ancient model, in fact a little newer than we were used to at the station, but certainly outdated in most modern circles. At least back then. Transports come and go so fast anymore, it's hard to keep up with the latest technology. Honestly it's better just to find a model you like and update it yourself. Which, as I got a closer look, seemed to be what had been done to this particular transport. Certainly the thrusters were new, newer and unlike anything I had yet seen. I didn't know it, but I was on the verge of seeing so much so soon. Just then, though, it was something as simple as unusual thrusters that took my entire interest. They were built for speed, I could tell just by the design. I have always had knack for things like that, mechanics and computers. I don't mean to brag, it's just my particular skill set. I am certainly lacking in many other areas, particularly things that don't interest me as much. Ships and transports always have, so I excelled at learning them and could tell that this transport could go faster than probably any other XF003.

"Boarding. XF003#70077. Calling."

The computer's voice played through my helmet's speakers. The dock's system was automatically pulling the transport into my section where I awaited it, somewhat eagerly, I admit. It eased in slowly, much too slowly for my tastes. Computers are always doing things slowly, as if we had all the time in the world like they do, as if they were afraid to take risks or just speed things up out of sheer boredom. It's one thing that has always bugged me about computers. Finally, with a hiss, the transport came to a stop and the light beside it turned green. I pushed my self forward, landing next to the light and waiting beside the transport's door for the connector to extend. It was part of my job to make sure that the connector to the station was secured properly to the transport's door, allowing any and all passengers to move safely into the station without having to pass through the cold of space or to deal with levity. I stood for a moment, waiting. And then another moment. Still the connecting door did not come. Finally, the computer spoke again into my ears, "XF003#70077 has forgone connecting door. Ensure safe arrival, Worker 1823." That was me, back then. Worker 1823. Not much, I know. It's hard to explain, and it's a hard feeling to get back now, but I was proud of my job back then. I enjoyed what I did, and even though I knew it wasn't important, to me it_ felt_ important. I was glad to be Worker 1823.

I had been at that job for three years, five if you count my apprenticeship, and this was only the ninth time anyone had ever forgone the connecting door. No one liked space, no one liked the cold, no one like the feeling of being weightless, drifting around without control. It just wasn't done. You always accepted the connecting door. Stations without the doors were forgone themselves, back then you could only find them in the deepest of space, and nowadays I'm not sure you could find them at all.

I could feel my heart beating in my spacesuit, anticipation filling my body. Who was this? Who had been navigating the transport parked before me? I had no guesses as to which form would emerge, it could have been anything, from anywhere in the grand universe. Perhaps even a species I had never seen before, only read about, or heard of in stories. After what seemed an eternity, the door to the XF003 began to open. It opened upward slowly, taking its time and building my suspense. Finally, to my surprise, it revealed the mysterious traveler who was the object of my intrigue: a humanoid. She stood with back straight and shoulders back, fearless. Her expression was bemused, waiting, but patient, as if she could wait a thousand years. And, as I later discovered, she could. Her hands rested lightly on her hips and light blue eyes pierced my soul, even through both of our helmets. I could feel my own bland, brown eyes grow wide at what they seemed to reveal about me, an inconsequential dock worker.

She just stood there, as if understanding my need to take her in, my need to try and categorize her, an impossible task. Her space suit was tight to her form, which was thin, but as I looked closer, rather short. The suit was an unusual mauve color, no doubt both fashionable and practical at once. It had a stripe of a slightly darker shade running down the side. Her helmet was light, small and round, a plain gray color. It appeared to be the most practical and high-tech thing she was wearing, especially taking into account the cape that billowed down behind her. The cape was odd to begin with. No one wore capes, probably not since a brief period about two hundred years ago, a time when they had enjoyed a short-lived popularity. More odd than that, I couldn't pin down its color. At times it seemed to match her suit, others it seemed a dark black. A spot behind my eyes began to hurt from focusing on it just as she shifted slightly in her position. It was the lightest of movement, and then she was drifting towards me. She held her stance as she came towards me, her eyes still watching mine.

I was aware of her as soon as she was beside me and I'm sure I would have been even if my eyes had been closed.

"Worker 1823 ensure passenger's safe arrival." The computer, unconscious of the things that go on between people and in our heads, interrupted my contemplation off this new creature. She stood next to me, still waiting. She was always waiting.

"This way, ma'am," I said, pressing the button on my wrist-link to transmit my voice into her helmet, if she was tuned into the dock's station. A smile spread slowly across her face, all light pink lips and pointy teeth. "Which way, to the only door in sight save the one I just came through?" her voice came directly into my ears. I blinked, my brain tripping over her words. Sarcasm. The first words she ever uttered to me were sarcastic, and that is her, completely in definition. I found myself smiling then. "No," I replied, "I was thinking we'd float around and go in through a window." An absurd notion, because everyone knows station windows don't open. I saw surprise flick across her face, something rare from her although I didn't know it yet, and heard her laughter cackle through my speakers, running through my head. Then her feet pushed again and she drifted towards the door. It opened without me keying in the sequence and she disappeared through it. I was left, stunned, and wondering more things than I usually wondered in an entire day. How had the door opened? Did she think I was funny, really? Where was she from? Where was she going? How long would she stay? Why was she here, of all places? Who was she? And most importantly, would I see her again? I would be wondering those last two for a very, very long time.


	2. Chapter 2

She had a way of testing people when they didn't even know they were being tested. I saw it a thousand times. When she first met people she had a way of sizing them up with one eye, a way of appraising them without letting them know she even cared, without letting on that everything they did or said was important.

I'm not sure if I passed purely out of luck, or if there really was a reason behind why she chose me that day.

"Worker 1823, board XF003#70077. Perform basic scan."

My orders came through, though they were a little fuzzy, and it was back to work. My head was still filled with thoughts of her, my mind still trying to picture her face. Otherwise I like to think I would have noticed sooner. Instead I drifted onto the transport and keyed the code into my wrist pad to close the door behind me. Because the transport was docked at our station it was hooked up to our system, giving us control over basic commands such as power levels, doors and flight. It helped me do my job of checking out and taking care of the ship, plus it was a basic safety precaution. That way the owner couldn't use their thrusters in the loading bay, thus damaging the station, or fly off with anything they didn't own. Not that there was much worth stealing at the station. Fuel and parts mostly. Whatever was coming from or going into deep space.

I let my wrist pad scan slowly over the walls of the transport, checking for leaks or any instabilities in the wiring. It felt odd to hear the click of my boots against the floor, I wasn't used to being in 'gravity'. I could feel every extra exertion it took to lift my body, even in the low-'gravity' of a transport. It was nothing like you'd get on a planet. It was what reminded me, though. I shouldn't be hearing my boots clicking, I shouldn't be checking the inside of the ship. I hadn't done the outside scan yet. It was protocol to scan the outside first. I worked with computers, we _always_ followed protocol. Had I misheard my orders?

"Computer, repeat orders."

My helmet filled with a faint fuzz, then a voice came through.

"Worker 1823, prepare for takeoff."

I whipped around as fast as I could just as the engine hummed to life. I could feel the thrusters vibrating through the transport. What was going on? The system had to be malfunctioning, starting the ship like this. But that voice... takeoff? That wasn't the computer, it was... my train of thought cut off and I could feel my eyes widen as the transport's door eased casually open in front of me. Standing there, one hand on her hip, a smile across her face and a cape falling loosely behind her, was the owner of that voice.

"Prepared for takeoff?" She asked, then stepping into the ship, tossed something at me. No, tossed it _to_ me. I fumbled for it, my gloved hands barely closing around it before it hit the floor. "What...?" I began, then stopped as I heard the hiss of the door. It was closing this time, closing with me inside.

See, the reason we had our systems take over any transport docked at the station was so that no one drove off with something they didn't own. I never thought someone would drive off with _me_.

I whipped around to face my kidnapper, who was now casually slipping into the control seat.

I had no clue what to say. I wasn't even good at talking to people in normal situations, let alone in hostage crises. I looked down at the object in my hands. It was just a smooth black case, no doubt nothing more than a distraction. She glanced over at her shoulder at me, smiling once again.

"Don't look so surprised, 1823," she told me, turning back to the controls.

"How else am I supposed to look?" I demanded, surprised at the force of my own voice.

"Happy?"

"Why...?"

She turned her chair around to face me completely. I waited for her answer, eyebrows raised and heart beating in my chest faster than the hum of the thrusters, as she regarded me. After a moment, she reached up and took her helmet off, setting it in her lap. For the first time I could see her face unobstructed. Her features were petite, with wisps of blonde hair escaping a braid in the back to fall around her face and stick to her cheeks.

"Well?" I asked, somewhat subdued at the sight of her. Only somewhat. I was being kidnapped after all. She waited another half a minute before speaking.

"Because I just rescued you," she answered as the ship launched smoothly out of my station, my job, my home and my life.


	3. Chapter 3: The Conversation

I had this conversation once, with him. It was late at night and we were watching the stars. It was the first time I really had the courage to ask him about what had happened, and even to this day I remember our words distinctly.

"What did you do to her?" I asked.

"Do to her? I didn't do anything to her," he replied, not even glancing at me.

"Then why is she like this? She wasn't always this way, was she?"

"She broke, and when she tried to fix herself she got the pieces together wrong. She forgot that her lightheartedness, her caring and her passion, her reliability were the important traits."

"I think they hurt her too much," I said softly.

"Aye." He nodded in agreement.

"Why did she break? Who broke her?"

"Why are you so obsessed with the notion of _someone_ breaking her? It wasn't _someone_, it was _something_, it was _life_. It was all the little things and more. People break, it happens all the time. It's only human."

"To break?"

"To shatter."


	4. Chapter 4

I had never seen the stars look so beautiful. I had lived my whole life in space, spending more than my fair share of time gazing at them, and I had never seen them like that before. Bright, fresh, streaking by in brilliant hues. For a moment they distracted me, and I found myself at the front of the ship, gazing out.  
"Beautiful, aren't they?"  
I reluctantly took my gaze from the stars and placed it on her. She still sat in the pilot's seat, leaning back in the most relaxed-looking way.  
"Yeah. Where are we going?" I asked warily. The sight of the stars had subdued me slightly but I was still unsure of her. I had no idea who she was. The whole thing was surreal, almost fake. Inside I felt kind of light and airy, as if someone had injected helium in my head and soon I would float upwards, bumping against the ceiling.  
"Where do you want to go?" Her question only made things worse. I struggled to find the logical center of my brain, drifting through clouds of helium to get there.  
"You could be dangerous, violent, wanted. Anything," I managed to get out. That a seemed fairly logical thing to say. She didn't seem to agree.  
"I could also be good, kind, friendly. Anything," she told me.  
"I..." I couldn't finish my sentence. She had a point. She had a way of twisting my words, my thought patterns. A way of turning them completely around on themselves and it made my brain swirl.  
"You want to go...?" She was still asking where I wanted to go, waiting for me to finish the sentence. I had to focus, had to think. Should I say home? Back to the space station? Could I say home?  
"What are my options?" I asked.  
"Your options are whatever you want."  
"That's confusing. You need to be more specific. We couldn't really go anywhere, could we? I mean this ship probably couldn't even make it out of the Ring."  
She smiled. "Wanna bet?" She asked.  
"Yes," I replied, "I do." I don't know what it was, I didn't normally say things like that. Maybe I thought them in my head, but I kept my thoughts to myself. At least back then I did.  
Her smile grew bigger until it took up her entire face. She was grinning and it made her almost float. She sat up in her seat and leaned towards me.  
"What should we bet?" She almost whispered, eyes glowing. I found myself smiling right along with her.  
"Me," I said. She raised her eyebrows, but the smile never left her face.  
"Oh?" She inquired.  
"If I win, you take me home. If I lose, I'll stay."  
"What makes you think I want you to stay?"  
"What makes you think I want to go home?"  
She leaned back in her seat, nodded once, and said, "You're on."

The controls for the ship looked basic at first glance, but as I watched her manipulate them I saw just how complicated they were. Her hands moved deftly across unnamed switches, pushing buttons, moving levers and entering sequences. Peering over her shoulder I asked, "Where are we going?" I was almost afraid of the answer.  
"Darbour."  
Darbour was a small planet in a different Ring, countless AUs away. I remembered hearing something in the feeds about Darbour recently but I couldn't remember what. I was never much of a news follower. Other than that I couldn't think of any reason she would want to go there. It was a normally uninteresting planet, used mostly for mineral mining. The towns were populated almost solely with miners, their families and the few who ran the necessary businesses. It held an important position in the Council and on the market because of the vast source of valuable minerals found below its surface, but it wasn't what anyone would call an 'exciting' planet. Unless you were a mining tycoon or a politician.  
"If we can go anywhere, why Darbour?"  
"You'll see," she said with a wink, then pushed one final button on the control panel.  
It was unlike any space travel I'd ever experienced, or any I've experienced since then. There was a sudden lurch, turning the stars outside into a blur. My stomach felt sick and my heart flt a million miles ahead of the rest of my body. There didn't seem to be any forward motion, or even any motion at all. Then we were still, perfectly still, and as I glanced outside the window I saw we were orbiting a dark, heavily green planet. Darbour.  
"Are we there? Did I miss something?" I asked. No way we had arrived so fast, so strangely.  
"We are there. Did you blink? If you blinked, you may have missed something," she replied, punching in the initiation sequences to land.  
"Do you even have boarding codes?" I asked. They didn't let just anyone into Darbour, they couldn't risk someone stealing mining secrets or assassinating of any of their important people. It wasn't like my station, where apparently we let just anyone dock and whisk away employees. She just laughed at my question, as if it were silly. Which, I guess at that point it was.  
"XF003#70077, boarding code request." The comm fizzed to life. I looked at her as if to say, see? She just ignored me, pressing the comm button to reply.  
"Code number 00000," she said, enunciating clearly. I crossed my arms, a little disappointed. This was not going to work. They were not going to let us onto Darbour with a code like that.  
"XF003#70077, access granted. Dock at Landing Platform 23T."  
"Thank you, Darbour," she happily replied. Releasing the comm button, she leaned back in her chair and turned to look at me. She waited expectantly.  
"Fine," I conceded, "I'm sorry for doubting you." I couldn't quite keep the sarcasm out of my voice. She laughed. "Basic code. Works every time because no one would ever even try it," she told me as the ship, now controlled by Darbour's system, eased into the atmosphere and onto the docking platform. The ship hissed and locked into place with a beep. We were officially on Darbour.  
"Well," she asked, "do I win?" I looked at her, then turned and walked out the ship's door.  
"Not yet," I called over my shoulder.


	5. Chapter 5- Future Entry

I watched, transfixed, although I knew this moment was not mine.

They stood close together, so close I knew he would be able to feel her breath, light and warm against him. They stood with all the comfort of people used to being close, and all the nervousness of a first kiss.

He looked down and she looked up. Their eyes were locked. I'm sure they were speaking, communicating without opening their mouths. They did it all the time, yet this time it seemed infinitely intimate. I was an intruder, but I could not tear my eyes away. Finally, he reached up and placed his hand, palm flat and fingers slightly spread, over her heart. He waited a few seconds, then I could hear his voice drifting softly across the brief expanse between them. "So it is true," he whispered. She nodded, and even from my hiding place I could see the pain on her face. "It was the only way," she replied, her voice even softer. His hand remained across her heart and now the pain was evident on his face as well. "You shouldn't have done it," he told her, shaking his head slightly. Her jaw tightened. "I could say the same thing to you," she replied, and took a step backwards. That step, I knew, took all the strength she had. His hand fell uselessly to his side.

I couldn't bear it any longer, it felt like a betrayal. She was the best friend I had, and this was not something she wanted me to see. I turned, and fled on quiet footsteps. Behind me, I thought I heard the words, "I'm sorry," But I couldn't tell who uttered them.


	6. Chapter 6

My legs were suddenly heavy, my self was suddenly weighed down. It was as if I was so tired I could barely move, as if I had just eaten five times my daily portion. She caught up with my easily, I was still on the docking platform where I stood, weighted to the ground.

"How's gravity for ya?" She asked, grinning.

"Is it always like this?" I asked. Of all the problems I had imagined us encountering, gravity was not one of them.

"Not always," she replied, "actually, Earth's is even stronger than this."

I eyed her, looking for a note of sarcasm. The thing was, her tone was _always_ slightly sarcastic. As unlikely was it seemed, though, I believed she knew this from experience. She had a way about her, of moving and speaking, that implied she had been places. Not Old Earth specifically, more like _everywhere_.

"You'll get used to it, station-born," she told me, with a slap on the back, then started off with light steps. I followed as best I could, either lifting my heavy feet too much and high-stepping like a horse or not enough and dragging my feet like a reluctant teenager on a family vacation. Until then I had only ever experienced 'artificial' gravity, which as learned, is a sorry substitute for the real thing.

The docking platform's walls were made of glass on all sides, but artificial lights were still necessary to light our way. Outside was pure forest, thick and dark, blotting out any light from the sun. The leaves were huge, the size of my hand, and grew close together. I almost tripped, looking out the window. She stopped. "Beautiful, isn't it?" She asked, her eyes on the forest.

"Gorgeous," I replied, "do they harvest it?"

"Illegal. They only mine," she informed me, then continued walking. I managed an "Oh," and hurried to catch up. She had all the time in the world, but she was always on the move.

"Pub," she said after a few minutes of walking.

"What?" I asked.

"A pub. We've got to find a pub, that's always where you get the best information. Plus, I could use a drink," she said with a laugh.

We went through a doorway and entered Darbour's marketplace. It was one open room, probably larger than my entire space-station. There were rows and rows of tiny shops, with make-shift parks or places to sit and eat spaced intermittently. People milled about everywhere, bartering, laughing and fighting. It was loud and everything was covered in a thin layer of dark soot. It immediately filled my lungs and coated, I'm sure, every single one of my internal organs. I'm sure some of it's still in there to this day. "Who's in charge of dusting here? Because I think they should be fired," I said between hacks. She just laughed and marched right into the swirl of people, boots clicking on the floor and head held high. "Hazards of a mining planet," she told me when I caught up with her. "Yes, well, they should invest in a vacuum."

"What can I getcha?" The bartender was a large man, with more than one chin but only one arm. His hair was graying and shaggy, his face unshaven. I wasn't sure where the wrinkles ended and the scars began.

"House special, please" she told him, sliding onto a bar stool.

"And for your...friend?" he asked.

"Oh, my pet? Found him wandering in space. You wouldn't happen to know his owner, would you?" She began.

"Anything to get this dust out of my windpipe, please," I cut her off before she could rattle anymore and sat down next to her. The bartender laughed, "You'll get used to the dust, kid." Then he turned to make our drinks. I looked at her as she calmly waited. "What are we doing here?" I asked. "Hm? Oh, rescuing," she replied, glancing around at the other costumers in the bar. She had this way of letting her eyes wander, even while you were talking to her. It gave the impression that she was always on the look-out for something, or someone, better. As if you had to fill the lull in the conversation or risk her boredom. And you jumped at the chance to do it. "Rescuing who? No, wait," I paused, thinking of a better question, what's your name?" She finally looked back to me, surprised. "We forgot introductions!" She exclaimed, sticking out her hand. "Constant. Nice to meet you. And you are, worker 1823? That surely can't be your real name," she asked. It took me two seconds too long to answer her, my mind tripping over her question. "Sam," I finally answered, grabbing her hand. It was dainty, the fingers were slim and tiny, but it was calloused. We shook vigorously and she laughed, but my mind was now preoccupied. Why had it taken so long to remember my name? Had I been worker 1823 for too long?

The bartender set our drinks down, interrupting my thoughts. Constant leaned towards him, elbows resting on the dusty bar. _What a strange name_, I thought, watching her. "What do you think of your president?" she asked him, sipping her pink drink through a straw. What a strange question to ask. My head swum with mining dust and names. I took a sip and the ice-cold liquid melted down my throat, soothing it.

"Our president?" The bartender repeated, apparently agreeing that the question was strange.

"Yeah," she reiterated, "the Prez. Do you like him? What's up with him?"

"Well, he's been kidnapped, so obviously someone don't like him," the bartender replied, chuckling. I pushed my hands through my hair. It was already full of soot.

"Wait, is that who we're rescuing? The president?" I asked. Instantly, her elbow shot out and connected with my ribs. I glared, but kept my mouth shut. The bartender eyed us, finally noticing something wasn't quite right. Took him long enough.

"Where are you two from, anyway?" he asked.

"News Station 23. We're doing a story on the kidnapping, looking to get some opinions from the locals," Constant answered quickly. He seemed slightly satisfied with her answer, as if they got news people often.

"Alright, well what exactly do you want to know?"

"Anything."

"Well, he's been made to be our president, so I suppose there ain't anything too disagreeable about him."

"Been made?" I butted in, instinctively flinching away from her, lest the elbow come again. It didn't.

"Where'd you say you found him?" the bartender asked Constant, gesturing towards me with his arm. She, of course, laughed.

"Oh, just floating around deep space. He's a bit misinformed, but he's my transmitter. Wouldn't get the news back to the station if it weren't for him."

"Obviously he don't read what ya send. The whole worlds knows about the president, it's been fillin' the news."

"Reading wasn't in the job description," I replied.

He decided to humor me. "Our new president's been made just for Darbour. Made him in the finest labs, they did. Just to suit our needs, fight for our agenda and be extremely personable."

"They _made_ your president?"

"Aye. Saves the hassle of an election. Not that it did 'em much good. Cost a year's worth of mining and now he's just been stolen."

"Kidnapped," she corrected.

"If ya wanna call it that," he shrugged. "That's what they say in the news. I don't much care either way, but a lot of people down here aren't sure if he's something to be kidnapped or something to be stolen."

"A person or a thing?" I clarified.

"He ain't too bright, your pet, is he?" The bartender asked Constant.


	7. Chapter 7- Tea

By the time we left the bar I was beginning to get used to the gravity, which was good because Constant did not slow down to compensate for me. She looked at everything that she passed but she still managed to cover ground very quickly.

We pushed our way through the market until she stopped abruptly at one end, a wall lined with unmarked doors. Hands on her hips, she glared at the door in front of us.

"I don't think it's retina scan," I offered.

"I'm seeing if looks can really kill. Or, open doors," she told me. Whether this was true, or she just didn't have a plan, I still don't know.

"Are we really here to rescue the president?" I asked.

"Someone has to," she replied.

"But why us?"

"Because we can. Because I'm proving we can go anywhere. You'll get it eventually."

I sighed.

"Do you ever answer a question with non-ambiguous details?" I tried next.

"Never."

"So I should just stop asking then?"

"Probably." We stood there for a few seconds, her still staring at the door.

"Is Constant your real name?"

"Are you a constant pain?"

"No. Is that the answer to my question then?"

"It's the answer to that one."

"So it really is your name?"

"Is Sam really yours?" she asked, whipping around to face me. Then, the door opened.

"Ah-ha! Looks do open doors!" she exclaimed.

Standing in the doorway was a young man, probably about my age at the time, maybe a little younger. He was obviously not a miner. Whereas everyone else we had seen so far had been dressed in drab, stained clothing covered in dust, he was dressed in a bright, crisp suit. Also covered in dust. Glasses, thickly framed in a black that matched his short hair, sat on the bridge of his nose. News feeds played across the lenses. He looked over their edge when he noticed us standing in his way.

"Oh. I'm sorry. Excuse me," he said, trying to step out of the doorway. Constant remained in his way.

"What do you think of the president?" she asked him. The boy's face went white, then he looked at us suspiciously.

"It's an abomination, why?"

"An abomination! Finally, someone with an opinion. Why is it an abomination?" He obviously did not want to be talking to us. However, even though he had only known her for under a moment he already knew he wouldn't be getting away until he complied. She smiled politely and waited for his answer, head tilted upward to face him. He sighed, resigned.

"They're messing with something they shouldn't. They created a body, but tell me, did they create a soul?" He said.

The brightness behind her smile faded. "Something tells me you'd know better than I would," she told him, voice even. Their eyes locked for a moment and I watched as she searched his soul. He tried to do the same to her, but I'm certain he found nothing.

"Excuse me, I've got to go," he said, pushing past her. She let him knock into her shoulder, swaying slightly from the momentum. I could see her thinking, her eyes unfocused. "C'mon," she said, stepping through the doorway. I followed, realizing we were stepping into an elevator. "Up. Floor fifty," she told the elevator. The door closed. I leaned back against the wall and let it carry us upward.

"He knows something," she said, staring at the ceiling.

"Oh?"

"Did you see his face? So passionate, so afraid. Did you see the suit? So rich. Just the sort of kid to be brainwashed."

It seemed kind of funny, her calling him a kid. He couldn't have been that much younger than me and she couldn't have been that much older than me. Still, I took her bait.

"Then why aren't we following him?" I asked.

"Because he was going down and we're going up."

"Why?"

"You and your whys! Stars above. Because they're hiding the Prez upstairs, with the rest of the political lot."

"How do you know?"

She turned to me with a wicked grin. "Because that's what I'd do."

Then the elevator opened and she darted out again, practically dancing down the long hallway before us. With I sigh I pushed myself off the wall and started off after her.

The hallway seemed to go on forever. It was painted a drab light blue, practically white, the kind you'd find in a hospital. The doors were marked with numbers like in an apartment or a hotel. She read the numbers off as we went.

"Five-oh-thirteen, five-oh-fifteen. Five-oh-seventeen.."

Suddenly, she fell back in step with me, matching her step with mine, adding extra bounce to get the energy out.

"Look, Sam," she began.

"Yes?" I asked, prepared to argue again. I could tell by the tone of her voice that she was about to be serious. I welcomed that, I needed a little serious just then, a little honesty, even if it was in the form of an argument. It was odd, how willing I was even to argue with her. I am not a confrontational person. At that time, I couldn't even remember the last time I had legitimately argued with someone besides her. It had probably been my mother, years before. I had rarely even argued with my mother, and we had lived under the same roof for sixteen years. Living in tight space-station quarters can be very difficult at times, yet I had suppressed the urge to fight with my mother for the most part because I couldn't stand fighting. Yet there I was, on some strange planet, ready to argue with her. She was like that, you'd take the good just as willingly as you'd take the bad. At least at first. Maybe I was just eager to finally let the arguments out, have our words clash against each other like swords. Maybe it was about time I argued. Again, though, she surprised me.

"Sam," she started over, watching the doors as we passed them by, "my name really is Constant. I know it's a funny name, but it's my funny name, and it's always been my funny name. I'm not going to lie to you." She finally looked me in the eye and I smiled a half smile to encourage her. She continued, "I'm sorry-"

"An apology?" I interrupted. I couldn't help it. It may have been early in our time together but even then I could tell an apology was rare for her.

"Yes, now listen. I'm sorry I've been moving so quickly and not explaining. It's what I'm used to. And I'm sorry if I've been too much, when I'm comfortable with someone-"

She was comfortable with me? Was that was that feeling was? The ease that, even though we just met, and even though I was still worried, I was sort of okay being on a strange planet with her?

"-I forget to explain. I forget to slow down."

"Don't." I said.

"Don't?" she asked, puzzled.

"Don't slow down."

She grinned and I grinned right back. She bumped her shoulder against mine and skipped off down the hall. Yes, sometimes she skipped.

I ran to catch up.

"So, does this mean I can ask why?" I huffed, doing my best to hop along next to her.

She laughed, "Is that your idea of skipping?"

"Yes, it is. Something wrong with it?" I asked, eyebrows raised in mock offense.

"You've got to put your heart into it!" She replied, grabbing my hand and pulling me along faster. Our palms were sweaty together but I didn't mind. I was out of breath but I felt a rush go through my heart, filling me up with happiness and letting it bubble over in the form of laughter.

"Why," I managed again, "are we rescuing the president of Darbour?"

She stopped suddenly without answering me. Again. "Five-oh-thirty-one," she said. She still held onto my hand as we stood outside the door. "What is it? Why five-oh-thirty-one?" I asked. Instead of answering that question she answered the previous one.

"We're rescuing him because he needs to be rescued, because I'm trying to show you something, so just wait. Because people ought to be able to live their lives, because we've already done it so we have to do it, because if Darbour rescues him he'll just go back to being their manufactured president. And if he stays being kidnapped, who knows what they'll do."

My head spun with her explanation. I could only answer with another question. "Why five-oh-thirty-one?"

She stepped forward and knocked on the door. Twice, quick together. A pause, then twice quick together again. She repeated the pattern. "A heartbeat," I realized. A secret knock. How did she know it? The door slid open to reveal a tall, thin man with spiky brown hair and a wide mouth. A slow smile spread across his face, revealing pointy teeth. It's generally a good idea to never trust a person with pointy teeth.

"Constant. Come to join the cause?" He asked. He knew her name? I had only just learned her name and it reminded me I still didn't know much about her. Or her past. I was still willing to go along with her, but that didn't mean I trusted everyone she'd ever mixed with.

"It's not too bright, using the room with your name right on the door," Constant told him.

"Hide in plain sight. Always worked for us."

"Worked for us once, Marcus."

"Once or twice," he replied calmly, showing those teeth again.

I regarded the two of them, the easy but curt way their conversation swung. The feeling that something else was right below the surface. I felt a twinge of jealousy. Obviously she knew him, obviously they had been places together.

"Who's your new friend?" he asked, nodding his head in my direction.

"Sam. Head of ethics on kidnappings. Come to see if you're dong the right thing."

"We always do the right thing," the man said, looking me in the eye. I looked right back. He held his hand out for me to shake. I shook it, trying to match the firmness of his grip.

"My name's Marcus, I'm an executive officer in FiveOhThirtyOne. We're trying to stop the numerous unethical things in this universe."

"Like kidnapping?" I replied.

Marcus laughed. "He's feisty, I see why you brought him along, Constant. Come along in then, we'll have some tea and talk it over." He stepped back from the doorway, extending his hand in a gesture of invitation.

"Love to," Constant said, stepping over the threshold.

"Are we about to have tea with the president's kidnapper?" I whispered to Constant as I followed her in.

"One of them," she whispered back as the door slid shut behind us.


	8. Chapter 8

The only sound was the pouring of tea into tiny little cups. Constant and I sat on small sofa across from Marcus as he served our tea on the coffee table between us. Constant sat relaxed, leaned back with one arm up on the back of the sofa. She seemed completely unaware that we were in the enemies den, the room of the kidnappers. I sat rigidly, my hands folded in my lap. It took every ounce of my self-control to stay still. I couldn't sit normally, I was so nervous I had to be either moving completely or as stock-still as a statue. I chose still, figuring it was the most normal option.

Marcus finished pouring the tea and sat back in his chair.

"Well, where is he?"Constant asked casually, reaching for her cup of tea.

Marcus tilted his head to one side, licked his lips thoughtfully, then replied. "Do you know how they made him?"

I found myself wondering why no one gave straight answers around here. It could've made things so much simpler.

"No, the finer points of genetics are beyond my knowledge," she replied.

"No matter. I can explain."

"I'd rather you didn't," she said with a sigh. "We don't have all the time in the world."

Marcus barked out a laugh. "Humor me then, about something more your speed," he said, eyes narrowed slightly.

She took a deep breath then let it out slowly. "Consider yourself humored," she told him.

"_Why_ he was made,"Marcus began.

"How does that matter?" she asked, sounding impatient.

"How does it not?!" He replied, indignant. I found myslf gazing out the window. Down below were the treetops of Darbour. They formed a canopy so thick it almost looked as if you could walk straight across. They were still arguing.

"He is made. There is nothing more. He exists, and therefore he should be allowed to continue to exist," Constant said, her gaze the type of gaze that could open doors.

"You don't believe that,"Marcus scoffed.

"You don't?"

"He is an abomination. Regardless of his individuality, if they are allowed to continue making people to essentially be slaves then they'll never stop! Think about it. Entire armies, created just to be soldiers. Lean, mean, killing machines. No regret, no conscience. They don't even have to wait for them to reach the right age. Accelerated cell growth, they grow them in tubes right down in the lab."

"Wait," I interrupted. "Can they do that? Get rid of the conscience?"

Marcus turned to me, then back to Constant. "How much information did you give him?"

"He can't be brainwashed into being one of your worker bees, if that's what you're implying," she nearly spat back.

"Because he's already been brainwashed into being yours?" Marcus sneered.

I felt like a child watching my parents fight. Being kept in the dark was getting more than a little annoying.

"Stop. I'm not going be, nor have I been, brainwashed to be anybody's anything. Just tell me, can they do things like that? Get rid of a conscience?" I asked, keeping my voice even.

"Yes," Marcus said, "they can make them to be anything they want. They know which centers of the brain are 'necessary', and which aren't. He is the president, because he's been made to be the president, nothing more. He has been genetically engineered to love the people of Darbour and their planet. Created to be charismatic, good at dealing with the public, other politicians and business men. He makes excellent speeches. He's simple and profound in his public speaking, because it's all he can be."

"Like a computer? Only doing the tasks it was made for? The coding it has?" I asked, trying to put it into terms I could grasp. It was mind boggling, and a little frightening. I could see the picture Marcus was trying to paint. Soldiers, thousands of them, in rows and rows as far as the eye could see. I could picture them looking up, their eyes dead, ready to kill. Millions of them at anyone's disposal.

"Basically like a computer. He's not really a person, just a creation."

"Why don't you just let him go? Let him go live a life somewhere else? I mean, he's got a conscience, right?" I suggested.

"He has one, because they wanted him to. But he can't do anything else, he only knows how to be the president of Darbour. It's what he's programmed to do. And besides, you don't let a monster loose in the galaxy. They have laws about this sort of thing. According to the inter-planetary laws, he should never have been made."

"You can't exactly blame him for what someone else did," I said.

"They found a way around your strict interpretation of the law, Marcus. This is within legal limits," Constant added. I didn't know. I didn't remembrance much of my government classes from school. I had been busy with engineering and space travel. The Grand Council and they're list of laws as long as the galaxy itself had not held my attention.

"And they will continues to find loops hole and generally trample the laws as they please unless someone stops them!" Marcus nearly shouted. Tea sloshed from his cup to the saucer. He leaned back, closed his eyes for a second and took a deep breath. When he opened his eyes again he leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees. He was looking right at me. His eyes were a hazy blue I couldn't quite trust.

"Look, Sam, you're looking at this all wrong. Like he's a person, like you or me. He's not. He's more of a computer, like you said. One that never should have been made in the first place. The universe has a way of being and you shouldn't mess with that. When you make someone you can only make the body, the pieces the way you like. You can't make the most important part. The _soul_."

I didn't know how to reply. In my world the soul wasn't something you thought about. My world had been bolts, screwdrivers, spare parts. Tangible things. A soul...

"Well, how come you're born with a soul then?" I cautiously supplied.

"Because you're supposed to be born."

"But when you have a kid, you're not responsible for the soul. It's just... there. Couldn't that happen with someone like the President?"

Constant, who had been unusually silent since Marcus' outburst, stood up.

"Where is he Marcus?" She asked, quietly. Marcus looked up at her.

"You should leave, Constant. Take Sam and go somewhere else. This is not your problem. You don't need to save every lost puppy-dog. Go home before you have to watch what happens when people mess with the proper ways of the universe," he said coolly. There was something dangerous in his words and I could see she felt it too. We stood up and left, abandoning our half-drunk tea on the coffee table.

The door shut behind us and we were left standing in the empty hall again.

"I cannot stand that man. He is so pretentious," Constant said, her eyes wandering around the hall.

"Yeah, well... What now?" I asked. I was worried. We were in over our heads. Trying to rescue something being fought over by Darbour and this odd revolutionary group. Or someone? I still wasn't sure.

"We pay a visit to the President," she said, breaking into my thoughts.

"Oh?" I asked. But before she could elaborate, if she was going to, that is, there was the sound of steps down the hall. It was the man from earlier, the one from the elevator with the glasses. He paused as soon as he saw us. His eyes went wide as he noticed which door we were standing in front of.

"Speaking of brainwashed worker bees," Constant said lowly.

"Like twenty minutes ago, yes," I replied, my eyes on the figure down the hall just like hers were.

A smile spread across Constant's face. She looked like a cat just before the pounce. The man recognized it too. He turned to run, his lanky legs almost tripping over themselves. She bolted after him. One second she was standing right next to me, the next she was halfway down the hall.

She bounded after him, running on the tips of her feet like a sprinter. He was no match for her. In a few seconds she was right behind him. In one swift movement she leaped up, wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. He stumbled, once, twice, then fell. There was a crash and a grunt. Looking around to make sure no one had seen, I ran down to where they lay in a tangled heap. "Constant! Geez!" The sudden violence had surprised me. She sat up, grinning and rolled him over. His glasses lay a few feet ahead, the lenses shattered. She crouched over him, the palm of one hand flat against his chest. He groaned and gazed confusedly up at both of us. I smiled sheepishly and shrugged my shoulders.

"Sorry. Even I didn't see that one coming," I told him, trying to be of some comfort.

"Who are you?" He asked. "I'll have you know I'm Darren Basher, son of Alexander Basher-"

"Prime Dean of Mining," Constant finished his sentence. A blush filled Darren's pale cheeks.

"Yes," he told us, "and that makes me very important. So if you break anything..."

"Your father, he helped to build the President?" Constant asked, ignoring Darren's threats. Our prisoner gritted his teeth. "Yes," he said.

"Ah. The perfect recruitment for FiveOhThirtyOne. Daddy is rich, you resent that for whatever silly reason you rich kids do, and Marcus sweeps in and takes advantage of it. Gives you a place to put all your resentment, a channel to put your angst. And the President gets caught in the middle."

"How do you know Marcus?" Darren demanded, beginning to struggle a little. So Darren was involved in this. I wasn't sure about Constant's methods, but she did know how to get information.

"We had our time in the suns," she said offhandedly.

"Now wait a minute," I interjected, "I've been wondering the same thing." I wanted to know more about Marcus. He frightened me and I didn't like that. I wondered where Constant knew him from, if she had been a part of FiveOhThirtyOne.

"Now's not the time. Will someone please tell me where in the stars the flippin' president is?!" Constant exclaimed. She was very secretive when it came to her past. Her details came slowly, and they were almost always ambiguous. She was like a puzzle I had to put together. And I had to do it in the middle of interrogating the sons of rich business men.

"None of your business," Darren said, somehow managing to pull off a haughty expression even while being held in place by Constant. She raised her eyebrows, reached into a pocket of her spacesuit, and pulled out an impressive looking weapon. It was a polished silver color, the shape of a blaster, with lots of knobs and switches. My eyes widened at the sight of it. She pressed the barrel into Darren's side. He tried to squirm away from her but she held him in place.

"Where. Is. The. Flippin'. President?" she asked, her voice low, her face up close to his.

"Constant," I warned. I had not signed up for this.

"Don't, Sam," she told me.

Darren looked at me pleadingly.

"I will walk away right now," I said.

"Just let Mr. Basher answer the question. No one gets hurt," she said without taking her gaze off of his face. My heart was beating fast. She was going to shoot him. I would be arrested for helping her murder some rich kid. I should have just stayed on the space-station.

"Third floor. In the lab. They've got him hidden in the back room, Number nine, no one uses it anymore," Darren's words came out in a rush, his breathing hap-hazard.

Constant broke into a grin. "Excellent, Mr. Basher. Be on your way, then please," she said. Then she hopped up, grabbed my hand and yanked me down the hall. Stunned, I let her drag me for a minute. As soon as we rounded a corner I pulled away from her and stopped.

"What was that?" I asked.

She turned and looked at me. She was still grinning. She held the gun in front of herself, then lightly under-handed it to me. I caught it out of instinct, worried it would go off. I turned it over in my hands. It was light, too light. Something was off about it.

"This is... cheap plastic..." I looked up at her

"Pull the trigger," She told me. I did. Water squirted out of the tip. I laughed, stunned.

"Purely for intimidation purposes. C'mon, who do you think I am?" She joked.

"I have no idea," I replied, turning the water pistol over in my hands again. I couldn't tell if the gun being fake made her more or less sane than if it had been real.

"If you don't mind, we're still on a mission..." She hinted. I tossed the 'blaster' back to her.

"Right. The lab. Let's go."


End file.
